


what the world will never see

by mimeticpolyalloy



Category: Xenosaga
Genre: 5+1 Things, Family Dynamics, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, a dynamic you can just really. fucking. touch the stove to. dynamics you can concuss yourself to, is this a 5+1? is that what this is?, its kinda like found family but albedo is emo and margulis is margulis so good fucking luck, pellegri and the other URTV bros are mentioned, take a shot every time the author projects onto a character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimeticpolyalloy/pseuds/mimeticpolyalloy
Summary: "He isn’t the boy’s father, but… He supposes he could offer the boy some comfort. He owes him that much, at least."(AKA What happens when an evil goth space catholic meets an immortal traumatized child and accidentally adopts him, but both of them have the emotional intelligence of a 2014 Honda Accord)
Relationships: Albedo & Margulis (Xenosaga)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	what the world will never see

**Author's Note:**

> i came up with the idea for this after my mom yelled at me and it was gonna be, like, maybe 1500 words in my brain but somehow i ended up with an 11 page rough draft on google docs
> 
> also this fic is 90% my own headcanons about albedo's childhood and what tween-teen albedo was like but it's fun so
> 
> title is taken from "the power in me" from the musical twisted!

Margulis remembers when they first saw the boy, curled up like a fist on the floor of the Song. He had been surrounded by Realians, young girls with hair almost as pale as his. The girls had looked up at him and Sellers when they came upon the scene, but not the boy. The boy was half-dead and unconscious, breathing shallow.

“A URTV…?” Sellers had mumbled, before making an irritated groaning noise and saying that they’ll “handle it later”. He had turned away from the scene, intent on finding the control room so they could get off this godforsaken planet, when Margulis spoke.

“No,” he remembers saying. “I’ll take him to the infirmary.” As he stepped forward, the Realians stepped back, and he carried the boy away.

He’s still curled up like a fist now. The two of them are still in the infirmary, where they’ve been for the past week. They shouldn’t be. Margulis can take care of his own wounds perfectly fine, and there’s nothing wrong with the boy, not anymore, not physically, at least. Despite all the questions the makeshift nurses ask him, the countless forms they fill out while talking to him, he can see in their eyes that they don’t know what to do with him. They’re battlefield medics, not child psychologists, and even if they were, Margulis is unsure they would be much help. However, even Sellers insists that they both should stay for at least a month, until everything is settled down, and he won’t listen to Margulis’s arguments.

Pellegri comes to visit every day. She gives him updates on where they are, where they’re going, what’s going on around the ship. She tells him the news and lets him know the latest information on diplomatic relations across the galaxy. It’s all much appreciated. But aside from that, that hour or so each day, it’s just him, the boy, and the nurses.

He and the boy don’t speak, but they do watch each other. Over the past few days, Margulis has noticed how the boy will stare into space for what seems like hours before his face twists in frustration and he angrily lies down on his cot, covering his head with the sheets. When this happens, he won’t let the nurses touch him, won’t respond to their questions, and sometimes Margulis can hear him cry.

The boy seems to cry a lot. He’ll cry late at night, too, likely thinking Margulis to be asleep. Then it’s violent sobs, like a small child, until the boy manages to fall asleep. Although Margulis wouldn’t suffer such nonsense under any other circumstances, something about the boy keeps him quiet. He’s earned the right to cry. Margulis doesn’t know what happened to him on Miltia, but he doesn’t need to. It can’t possibly good, not on Miltia, not with one of Yuriev’s child soldiers. Certainly not if it ended with a half-dead boy in the Song of Nephilim.

The boy watches him, too. He can feel his eyes on him every night, when he leaves his cot to pray. He can feel the questions that the boy wants to ask, but doesn’t. The boy will watch him and Pellegri talk too, and occasionally Pellegri will take notice and scowl at him, and he will look away until her attention leaves him. He can’t blame the child; there’s nothing in this infirmary, certainly nothing for a child to entertain themselves with. So they watch each other, waiting until they’ll finally be allowed to leave.

It’s one of the evenings where the boy is staring off into space that he finally speaks without prompting. There are no nurses around, and Margulis is reading some historical text as the boy stares off vacantly. Margulis notices the boy clench his fists in the sheets, looks up to see his face flash with frustration. Only this time he speaks.

“I can’t find them,” he says, and his voice is like broken glass. Margulis’s eyes widen slightly, brows raised. The boy has only ever answered direct questions, and even then he only said a soft “yes” or “no”. His eyes are red and shiny, and Margulis realizes how tired he looks. His eyes seem so much older than they should.

“Can’t find who?” he asks at last, setting his book down. The boy pulls his knees closer to his chest, still not looking at Margulis. He knows the URTVs have psychic abilities, but if he’s trying to telepathically communicate with any of the others… well, quite frankly, Margulis doesn’t think there _are_ any others.

“It’s not… It’s all dull,” the boy says, voice so small. “It’s all dull, and, and too far away, and I can’t see… It’s all… Not red, but _red_ .” He’s crying now. He turns his face away, probably so that Margulis can’t see his tears. “It’s cold, and empty, and… It’s never _been_ empty.”

With each word, the boy is getting more and more distraught. Margulis doesn’t know what to do. This boy is sobbing and speaking nonsense and Margulis is standing up. Why is he standing up? He crosses the room to the boy’s cot. He doesn’t know what to do, has never been good with children or teens or boys who had something terrible happen to them during a war. He’s kneeling by the bed now. The boy still isn’t looking at him, still sobbing and speaking nonsense. Margulis puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder, heavy yet gentle. The boy stops talking, just sobs again, his whole body shuddering with it. Margulis doesn’t know what to do.

“It will be fine, child,” he says. The boy doesn’t respond, but his sobs are slightly quieter. Margulis says it again. “It will be fine.” As if repeating it makes it more truthful. He doesn’t know what to do. What else can he do? He repeats it until the boy’s sobs turn to hiccups, turn to shuddering sighs, turn to silence.

* * *

Almost two and a half weeks. Almost two and a half weeks since Miltia, since they were confined to monotonous lives within these dull walls. Margulis has asked Pellegri to look for books the boy might like, but he seems to prefer taking a marker and blacking out all the pages. Whatever keeps him occupied.

He and the boy have spoken occasionally since the incident a week ago. The boy’s name is Albedo. He was the six-hundred and sixty-seventh URTV unit. He had two brothers. That’s all Albedo would tell him, so Margulis doesn’t press, just tells Albedo about himself in return. He tells him his name, that he’s a commander in U-TIC, that he’s an adherent to the beliefs and laws of Ormus. They don’t talk much, but the atmosphere isn’t as tense as it had been before.

It’s evening. At least, as much as it can be evening in space. Margulis sighs and puts away the book he had been reading, leaving his cot. He walks around it and kneels at the foot of it, facing towards the wall. He clasps his hands together and closes his eyes and begins his nightly praying. As usual, he can feel Albedo watching him. This evening, though, Albedo speaks up.

“What are you doing?” Albedo asks, and it’s genuine. If it were anyone else, Margulis would ignore it, but he knows that Albedo will just repeat his question until he gets an answer.

“I’m praying,” Margulis says. There’s a long moment of silence after that. He can practically hear the gears turning in Albedo’s head. The moment ends.

“What?” The confusion in Albedo’s voice was obvious. Margulis supposed it can’t be helped; he wasn’t raised like an actual child. It makes sense that he wouldn’t be taught things not essential to his purpose, and Yuriev certainly isn’t a religious man. Margulis sighed.

“Praying,” he says again, as if that would clear things up. “I’m… making a solemn request to my god.” The definition was a bit of an oversimplification, but he wanted to end the conversation, at least for now. He could explain in more detail later. He just wanted to be able to focus on prayer again. As if Albedo would let _that_ happen.

“What are you requesting for?” The question was innocent enough, and there didn’t seem to be any malice in the boy’s tone, just curiosity. It was only natural to be curious after being sheltered by Yuriev and his scientists for so long. Maybe “sheltered” wasn’t the right word. Regardless, it wouldn’t hurt to answer him.

“That you and I both get well soon,” Margulis says. He’s about to continue praying when Albedo starts laughing.

Margulis stiffens. Albedo’s laugh was something he hadn’t heard often in the past few weeks, but when he did… It didn’t feel good. It was sinister, mocking, shockingly frightening for a twelve-year-old. He tries to focus on God, on praying, but Albedo’s laugh fills the room. Finally, it goes quiet. He’s finally resumed praying when Albedo speaks in a much smaller voice.

“...How do you do it?”

Margulis’s eyes shoot open as he looks over his shoulder in surprise. Albedo is sitting up in his cot, smiling tiredly, eyes red and cheeks shiny with tears. Margulis is silent for a moment before gesturing for Albedo to join him.

Albedo leaves his cot, sitting next to Margulis and copying his kneeling posture. He wipes his eyes quickly and looks up at him.

“You clasp your hands like this, and then…”

* * *

They’ve been discharged. Margulis had no lingering injuries from his duel with Jin Uzuki, only a long scar that Pellegri said would make his men more intimidated of him. Albedo was told he was healthy enough to leave, and he was then shown to his room aboard the Song. Margulis noticed the phrasing. “Healthy _enough”._ Even the nurse had winced slightly as he said it.

Since leaving the infirmary, though, Albedo had taken following Margulis like a duckling. As much as it annoys Pellegri, Margulis couldn’t care less. The boy is quiet, and he stays out of the way, preferring to hide behind Margulis during conversations with… well, anyone. Occasionally he’ll play with the sleeve of Margulis’s coat, but for the most part he keeps to himself, watching everyone around him. He’s been given new clothes, too, dark and red, stereotypical of Ormus. He seems to like them well enough. He cries less, now, too. At least, Margulis doesn’t see him cry.

Margulis had quickly fit into a neat, if somewhat strange, schedule. In the morning, after taking care of hygiene and getting dressed, he’ll eat something in the small dining area nearest to his rooms. This is also where Albedo will find him and begin to follow him until the late evening; they again eat in the dining area, and Albedo leaves for his rooms shortly after. In between, Albedo clings to Margulis’s sleeve, or quietly sits in his office, distracting himself with blacking out another book (but Margulis has seen him actually _reading_ a few books, too. He smiled at that; there’s hope for this child yet).

Margulis had grown used to this sort of agenda fast; which is why he’s confused when the pattern is broken. It’s almost twelve in the afternoon, and yet he still hasn’t seen or heard of Albedo. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned; the Song is a _very_ large space station, and getting lost means getting _lost,_ especially for a twelve-year-old. He’s about to go looking for Albedo when he hears Sellers yelling.

He follows the noise, entering a room to see his associate yelling at Albedo. He hears something about how Albedo “better not take that tone with me again,” how Sellers “won’t stand to be disrespected by a child”. It’s all barely comprehensible, though, the yelling making it all sound like an incoherent angry noise. Albedo is just scowling at his shoes, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and as Margulis gets closer he can see that his eyes are shiny with unshed tears. Margulis quickly moves between the boy and Sellers, gently pushing Albedo behind him.

“What is going on here?” he asks, half yelling as he glares at Sellers. Albedo quickly hides behind him, gently grabbing his coat at the waist. Sellers glowers at the boy, causing Albedo to pull Margulis’s arm in front of his face, looking away.

“ _Albedo_ here decided he could take a _tone_ with his superior officer,” Sellers says, voice dripping with venom. Margulis feels Albedo’s grip on his coat tighten. “See,” Sellers continues. “He doesn’t even have anything to say for himself.”

Margulis feels his chest tighten with anger. Yes, Albedo _should_ give U-TIC authorities the respect they are due, yes, it _is_ already improper for Margulis to be stepping in here. But Albedo is still a child, and the thought of doing nothing as Sellers tears into him twists Margulis’s insides. He wouldn’t let that happen.

“You will _leave the boy be,_ Sellers.” Margulis steps closer to his associate. “We agreed that Albedo was _my_ responsibility. This includes disciplining him.” Sellers frowns, but relents under Margulis’s harsh gaze. He moves back from the man, briefly glaring at where Albedo was hiding behind Margulis, as if he were a much younger child.

“Fine,” he finally spits out. “But be careful, Margulis. Keep talking like that, and you’ll forget what he is.” With that, Sellers leaves the room, still fuming. Albedo’s grip finally relaxes. Margulis sighs. He hates to admit it, but Sellers has a point. He wasn’t Albedo’s father. He shouldn’t be so protective over a boy who will soon be used as little more than a soldier, a mercenary, a weapon. He knows this. So why does that thought feel so… Wrong? Regardless, he still has to talk to Albedo about this. He turns around to face the boy before bending his knees so they could see eye-to-eye.

“Albedo,” he says, prompting the boy to finally look up from the floor. “What happened to make Sellers yell at you like that?” He wants Albedo’s full version of events. Sellers was worse with children than Margulis, often expressing an outright hatred of them. He wouldn’t put it past the man to find an excuse to yell at Albedo. Luckily for Margulis, the boy was still young and inexperienced enough that Margulis could tell when he was lying. He wondered how long that would last.

“I don’t know,” Albedo mumbles, playing with his fingers, his go-to fidget when he was uncomfortable. His eyes are still shiny. Margulis frowns.

“Albedo, just tell me what happened. I won’t be angry.” He rests a reassuring hand on Albedo’s shoulder, like he had all those weeks ago in the infirmary. “Did you mean to disrespect Sellers?” He tries to keep his voice gentle, but that wasn’t a tone he had much experience with. He hopes he’s at least somewhat successful.

After a moment, Albedo finally speaks.

“No,” he says, voice shaking slightly as he tries not to cry. He never did take yelling well, and if it wasn’t for Margulis keeping him, he likely would have already run to his room to sob into a pillow. “I just -- I was tired and upset and didn’t want to talk to him. I don’t know.” His hands quickly move to his eyes, wiping tears away before they could fall, shielding his face from Margulis’s gaze. Margulis’s face softens.

“It’s alright, Albedo. Just…” He sighs again. He really wasn’t good with children. “Just don’t let it happen again.” He straightens, keeping his hand on Albedo’s shoulder. He gives it a comforting squeeze, but before he can turn to leave, Albedo rushes forward. The boy wraps his arms around Margulis and buries his face in the man’s coat. Margulis takes a step back in surprise, but quickly regains his composure. He can hear soft sniffles, muffled by the thick fabric of his uniform. He slowly and gently places his arms around Albedo. He seems so small.

“...There, there,” he says, gently rubbing Albedo’s back. They stay like that for a few minutes longer than Margulis is quite comfortable with. After they part, Albedo rubs the remaining tears from his eyes and cheeks and mumbles a quick “thank you” before hurrying to his rooms. Margulis sighes for what felt like the millionth time.

He isn’t the boy’s father, but… He supposes he could offer the boy some comfort. He owes him that much, at least.

* * *

This mission would be the death of him.

It was _supposed_ to be fast. It was _supposed_ to be easy. He sets up an encampment, meets with a contact, sends some men to look for some files, and then they leave. It should take a week, tops.

And then the snowstorms started up, halting any attempts to send out men, and the ones who _did_ manage to leave came back hours later, half frozen, having ended up completely lost. It was, to put it rather crassly, driving Margulis up the fucking wall. It didn’t help that, with such a small group of men, it was left up to him to handle all of the reports and maps and plans for this mission, as well as looking over the additional paperwork he had piling up before he had even left. Needless to say, Margulis was going stir-crazy.

Margulis hears the door of his office open and clenches his fist. He’s had enough status updates on this godforsaken mission to last him a lifetime.  
“What is it,” he growls, standing and turning around to face the intruder. His harsh face softens when he sees who it is.

“Hi,” Albedo says, a tiny wave of his hand and a small, almost nervous smile on his face. A smile of any kind has been rare to see from him. Margulis doesn’t like to describe Albedo as “getting worse”; he is still a boy, and he really has been getting stronger, occasionally showing off his URTV abilities in attempts to impress Margulis. But the boy is getting worse. Just a week ago, he had pushed one of the Kirschwassers down a flight of stairs, and rather than shy away when Sellers yelled at him, he yelled back. He still cries, though. Margulis wonders if he will ever outgrow that.

However, despite all of the troubles Albedo may have been causing lately, he’s still a better face to see than another soldier bringing bad news. Margulis sits back down.

“Sorry, Albedo,” he says, looking back over the maps strewn across the desk. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.” Albedo still _hates_ yelling. Unless he’s the one doing the yelling, of course. Sometimes, it seemed like the boy got louder with age.

Albedo steps closer, smiling a little more, pulling off his gloves -- the planet they’re on has an average temperature of _freezing_ , at least this time of year. The boy may be immortal, but if he got frostbite, it would be an inconvenience. That’s why Margulis insists he wear layers when outside, nothing more.

“Troubles with the mission?” Albedo asks, shoving the gloves into a pocket. Margulis grumbles, a frown etched deep in his face.

“What gave it away?” He says, leaning away from the desk. Albedo glances over the maps and diagrams, but doesn’t seem very interested in them. He can be a rather… Machiavellian child, but only with something that holds his interest, something he gets to be in charge of, like when he rigged Sellers’s office with those… Well, never mind. This mission, though, had gotten Albedo’s stamp of “boring” before they even departed the Song. Margulis would never admit it, but he was inclined to agree.

“Hmm…” Margulis glances up at Albedo, who suddenly has a thoughtful look on his face, hand to his chin -- it’s the exaggerated look, the kind he gets when he wants people to know that, yes, he _is_ thinking. It’s often the face that warns people to run and check their rooms for firecrackers, or… Well, that’s another story. Suddenly, Albedo smiles. He grabs Margulis’s hand. “I want to show you something.”

“Albedo, I can’t just leave,” he says, but his heart isn’t in it. He wants desperately to get out of this office. He feels like he hasn’t seen the light of day in years, and he’s thoroughly exhausted mentally. The boy’s interruption had been a welcome distraction from the monotony of the mission. But this _is_ a mission, and he wouldn’t be much of a Commander if he just left whenever he got bored. Albedo tugs on his arm, pouting.

“Pleeeeease?” He asks, as if he’s ten years younger than he is. “It won’t take long, I promise, you’ll be back before anyone even knows you left!” But Margulis can’t. He has a responsibility, to U-TIC, to Ormus, he has to stay -- Oh no. Oh-ho-ho _no._ The _eyes._ Albedo, at some point, seemed to have gotten the idea into his head that if he pouts enough, looks sad enough, Margulis will just cave in and give him whatever he wants. As _if._ As if Margulis is some pushover, some weak-willed babysitter instead of a commander of U-TIC, an Inquisitor of Ormus. The two stare one another down, Albedo giving him these big pouty eyes, Margulis returning with a glare. A moment passes, then another.

“...Fine,” Margulis says, eyes closing in exasperation as Albedo bounces on his heels and cheers softly, shaking his fists in excitement. “But make it _quick._ ” Well, really, what harm will a short break do? He’s been working almost nonstop since they got here; a moment away will refresh him, and he’ll be able to return to his work with more energy. That’s why he’s letting Albedo drag him off somewhere. Not because he wants to spend some quality time with him alone, and _certainly_ not because of the eyes.

“Fifteen minutes at most.” That’s what he had said. That was all the time he would allow Albedo for this little adventure. Until fifteen minutes turned into twenty, with Albedo assuring him that “it’s not much farther.” Twenty minutes soon turned to thirty, then over forty-five of them still on some snowed-over backwoods road, surrounded on both sides by colossal evergreens, tall enough that they almost block out the sky.

“How were you even allowed this far from the encampment?” he asks, rather more concerned than he would like to admit. Who knows who, or what, could be lurking in wait on a road like this? Enemy soldiers were the least of his worries, especially with Albedo as young as he is. He may be powerful, but he’s still so young.

“It’s fine,” Albedo says, voice sing-songy under the scarf wrapped around his face. “Frostbite gets the nose, first,” Margulis had told him. The boy picks up some snow, balling it up before throwing it at a nearby tree. “Pellegri was always, like, fifteen feet behind me.”

_That makes it sound like she chased you as you ran off on your own,_ Margulis thinks. It wouldn’t be unlike Albedo -- he and Pellegri have never gotten along, and have made it almost a game to make one another’s lives more difficult. Albedo has admitted to owning a small collection of stolen nailpolish and eyeshadow, all taken from Pellegri’s rooms.

“Besides,” Albedo continues. “We’re almost there. For real this time, I promise!” As if proving his point, he speeds up, stumbling through the deep snow. Margulis looks up. Between the trees, he can see the sky turning a beautiful orangey-pink, like the skin of a peach. Unfortunately, that means it’s later than he had ever wanted to be staying out. Their only saving grace is that the snowfall is light -- if they get stuck in a blizzard because Albedo wanted to show him something…

“There!” Albedo shouts, smile audible. He points a mitten-clad hand forward. “Just around the corner!” Suddenly, he’s speeding off, almost falling face-first into the snow. Then he’s out of sight, having turned around the bend. Margulis calls after him, speeding up himself, and as he, too, turns around the bend, he can see what Albedo brought him to.

It’s gorgeous. It really, truly, is. In front of them sits a massive lake, a thick layer of deep blue ice covering it. The setting sun bounces off of it and onto the snow-covered banks as if it were the finest crystal. On the other side of the lake is a massive cathedral, shadowed only by a few trees surrounding it; no wonder he hadn’t realized it was there. The steeples blend in with the forest almost perfectly, as pointed and dark as the pines. The windows are intricate stained glass, some tall portraits of scenes from the Holy book, along with a stunning rose window. The stonework is painfully detailed, and statues of saints ring the towers of the building. At the front is a massive elm tree, likely older than the cathedral itself. As the sky turns pink and the snowflakes gently fall around them, the sight looks like it could be a work of art.

Margulis looks down at Albedo. The boy had pulled his scarf down while Margulis was admiring the cathedral, and now Margulis can see his smile. The boy is beaming, eyes bright. Margulis can’t remember ever seeing him so happy. Something inside him aches at that thought, but he pushes it down and smiles back at the child. He looks back up at the heavenly scene before them.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, and he continues down the road to the cathedral. Albedo follows, gently grabbing the sleeve of Margulis’s coat. Margulis moves, taking Albedo’s hand, instead. It still seems so small.

It’s late when they return to the encampment, the whole world washed in the deep blue of evening, but for once, the two of them are smiling.

* * *

Margulis is standing alone in one of the hangars on the Song, the one Albedo uses most often. He’s been away on missions almost constantly lately; after he turned seventeen, Margulis couldn’t argue that he’s “too young” for solo field work, and since he turned eighteen, Albedo has been actively choosing to take more assignments. Assignments that seem to go beyond U-TIC and Ormus, if that fancy new craft of his is anything to go by. He’s had the machine for little more than a month, and he’s infatuated with it. At least it sounds distinct; Margulis looks up when he hears the familiar roar of its engines approaching. Soon the craft is stopped, and Albedo crawls out of the cockpit onto the shoulder of the mech.

He gives Margulis a quick wave before jumping off of the massive machine, landing with a sickening… _crunch_. While Margulis’s face twists with disgust, Albedo merely winces briefly, quickly resuming his stride towards the commander. He’s tall now. When had he gotten so tall? Margulis feels like just yesterday he had been hiding behind him, small hands gripping his coat sleeve.

“The information you wanted,” Albedo says, handing Margulis a drive of files. “Just as you asked, no one even knew I was there.” The statement was clearly meant to be a jab at the commander. He hadn’t wanted Albedo to go -- worried he would be too gung-ho, that he’d attract far too much attraction with his theatrics. As was often the case nowadays, though, Albedo didn’t listen to him, and Margulis couldn’t stop him, so he had taken the mission.

Margulis didn’t know when their relationship had soured, but it had. He couldn’t control Albedo anymore. The boy -- the _man_ just wouldn’t listen to him. It wasn’t like his earlier attempts at childish rebellion, either. He was intentionally hurtful, mocking and belittling anyone he could, starting arguments just to make others angry. Almost everything he said was in bad faith, and he never tried to apologize, not even in his own little Albedo way of silently leaving tiny gifts or making small tasks easier. It hurt. In all fairness, Margulis had given up trying to make things better. He _had_ tried; how many times had he gone to Albedo’s rooms in the Song, asking if something was wrong, if there was anything he could try to fix, only for Albedo to lash out at him?

“You’re just saying that to hurt me,” Margulis would say.

“Well, duh,” Albedo would reply. “That’s the point. Keep up.” Margulis would look at the boy then, utterly speechless. Albedo would just look bored. “Are you going to stand there like a fool until I die,” he would say, “Or are you going to leave?”

Margulis always chose to leave.

Even Albedo’s clashes with Pellegri had become far more stinging. Usually they ended with some variation of Pellegri calling him a monster, or maybe a waste of space if she were truly enraged, and Albedo laughing and telling her to come up with something “more original”. His interactions with the Kirshwassers, too, had become more violent. Margulis would sometimes see them crying, comforting each other after Albedo lost his temper at them. It was like an invisible switch had been flipped, and suddenly Albedo hated everything. Hated everyone. Where was the boy he had comforted in the infirmary all those years ago? Where was the boy who smiled at him as he showed him a beautiful church on a distant planet?

If there was one good quality left in Albedo, it was his efficiency. As brutal as he was in his interpersonal relationships, and as much as he was inclined to dramatics, he could be surprisingly quiet when the circumstances called for it.

Of course, that could also be a bad thing if you wanted any kind of answers from him. If you asked him a question, he would avoid answering it, more often than not just to be a pain. It drove Margulis up the wall. The last time Albedo had played that little “game” with him, he had gotten angrier than he could ever remember getting with Albedo. Had he ever been really, truly _angry_ with him before?

Needless to say, he’s surprised when Albedo amiably asks how he’s doing.

“What?” He says, looking at Albedo as though he had grown another head.

“What?” Albedo asks in return, and for a moment, Margulis can’t tell if he’s being mocked or not. “Is it so unreasonable for me to ask after my _commander_ when I return from a mission?” Alright, there is _definitely_ a mocking lilt to his voice. It just… isn’t as overt as usual. Margulis looks away.

“I’m fine. And you?” He glances to the large mech Albedo had flown in on. “Where did you get something like _that?_ ”

Albedo’s eyes actually widen a touch, as though he hadn’t expected that line of questioning. It reminds Margulis of how Albedo would react whenever he was caught in a lie when he was younger -- the face he made when trying to figure out how to lie his way back out of any consequences.

“I’ve… been doing some freelance work on my own, you could say,” he says, hesitating slightly. Margulis raises a brow. “For a mutual friend of ours, of course.” Albedo looks away from Margulis, instead laying his eyes on the mech. “It’s called Simeon.” Every word seems carefully picked, as if Albedo is trying to tiptoe out of the topic, but Margulis wants to stay with this.

“A ‘mutual friend’? What does this work entail?” He frowns. He doesn’t like the idea of Albedo going rogue. He wants to squeeze as much information out of him as possible before he clams up again and resumes lashing out at anyone who tries to talk to him. Unfortunately, something in Margulis’s tone sets off Albedo’s internal _be a little shit_ alarms. The URTV scowls, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I don’t know,” he says, pointedly not taking his eyes off of Simeon. Margulis’s frown deepens.

“You don’t know?” His own arms crossed now, he takes a step closer to Albedo. Albedo takes a step back.

“I just -- I don’t _know,_ ” he says, squirming under Margulis’s intense gaze. Now he’s just trying to look anywhere that isn’t the commander. Arms still crossed, he fidgets with the stitching on his clothes -- no longer the typical U-TIC or Ormus red and black, but instead mostly white.

“How can you not know?” Margulis asks, voice raising slightly. “You’re the one doing the work!” Albedo scowls deeper at that. His hands grip his upper arms, fingertips digging in.

“You _know_ that’s not what I mean,” he says, and his voice wavers, like -- _oh._ Like when he was thirteen, and Margulis asked him, “How can you not know why you did this?” and Albedo said “I don’t --” and his lip was quivering and he said “I just don’t.” And then Margulis sighed, as he so often did when dealing with the child, and he said “It’s fine. Just don’t do it again,” and Albedo had wiped his eyes and hugged Margulis. And although his lip isn’t quivering now, he certainly has that hurt frown on his face, and he’s looking down at his feet. And Margulis sighs.

“You’re right,” he says, and Albedo looks up at him, clearly surprised. “I’m sorry.”

Albedo traces vague shapes on the dull metal floor with his foot.

“Yeah, well… it’s fine.” He isn’t looking at Margulis anymore. “I mean, it’s not _fine._ ” he clarifies. He’s still frowning, but it’s more of a pout. “But, y’know. It’s… fine.” He shrugs at that. Margulis looks back at Simeon. It’s a well-kept machine, shining as if it were fresh off the assembly line. Something clearly cared for.

“It’s a good craft,” he says after a few moments, or maybe hours. “I can see why you like it.”

Again, Albedo looks up at him with slightly wide eyes. Eyes like when he’d sit with Margulis in the evening and listen to him explain some belief of Ormus in terms easier for the boy to digest. He always did like listening to Margulis then, would ask so many questions. Albedo looks away again.

“...Thank you,” he says, and if Margulis were a more foolish man, he’d say Albedo was blushing. “I’m glad you’re doing well.” He’s fidgeting with the hem of his cape now.

“Thank you,” Margulis says in return. The two of them stand in awkward silence for a moment, unsure of where to go from here. Wasn’t this easy before? What happened? Margulis never gets an answer. Albedo mumbles a quick “I should be going” and then disappears into some dark hallway as Margulis is left staring at the empty space the URTV once occupied.

He knew it wouldn’t be easy when he saw a little boy half dead in the Song. He didn’t think it would be this hard, though.

* * *

Albedo doesn’t want things to be hard. Not for himself, and not for those closest to him.

After that little exchange with the commander, he quickly left for his own rooms, wanting to be alone somewhere quiet for a while. As he walks through the halls, he passes Margulis’s office. He glances inside. All the decorations that were once on the walls are gone, along with the books that once lined the shelves, all neatly packed away in boxes stacked on top of each other and pushed against the walls. The desk only has the bare necessities needed for Margulis’s position. Soon, those would be gone too. Margulis was going to be leaving the Song, his relocation to another, more _useful_ U-TIC outpost already arranged. Albedo frowns and looks away, quickly resuming his pace to his own rooms.

He knew it was coming. He’s an adult now, after all, and he had admittedly been pushing Margulis away. It still stung to see, though. For as much attitude as he gave the man… Albedo would never be able to say it aloud, but that man is the closest thing he’s ever had to a father. Yuriev didn’t count; that disgusting, heartless man was little more than a glorified sperm donor to Albedo. He never paid Albedo or his brothers any attention outside of their tests and exercises, never told Albedo he did a good job, never hugged him after he had been yelled at, never smiled at him like he cared, like spending time with Albedo made him happy. Margulis, though… He tried. Albedo knew he wasn’t the greatest person, but… he _tried_ when it came to Albedo.

That used to make him so happy. Someone trying for him. Someone caring. Now it just hurt.

Albedo continues to his room. A few Kirschwassers try to approach him, but a sharp glare sends them away. He closes the door behind him before sitting down on the bed. He sighs. When was the last time he’d said “thank you” to Margulis? The last time he’d spoken to the man without animosity? He can’t remember.

He doesn’t _want_ things to be hard. Of course, they can’t be easy. It had been nice, when they got along; when Margulis would take Albedo’s side against Sellers, when he’d let Albedo drag him away from his work for some fun distraction, when he would sit down with Albedo and explain beliefs of Ormus and passages from their Holy book. It had been nice, but it had also been… selfish of him.

Albedo wants to die.

Albedo wants to die, preferably at the hand of his beloved red-haired twin, though in all honesty, he’ll take what he can get. That is the desire at the core of his work for U-TIC. They get to the Zohar, and Albedo can fuse with U-DO once more, and then… then Rubedo will _have_ to kill him. If it’s Rubedo’s purpose to kill U-DO, and Albedo _is_ U-DO, then Rubedo will have no choice. He’ll give his baby brother the greatest gift he could ask for, and Albedo won’t have to be scared anymore, will only have oblivion ahead of him.

Which is why it’s selfish of him to have such good times with Margulis. Selfish and stupid. If Albedo gets his way, he’ll die soon, and he doesn’t want to turn Margulis into a grieving, bereft father, some depressing, shallow archetype of loss. So, if he can make Margulis angry… If he can make Margulis blind to whatever he had seen in him as a child, make Margulis hate him, then he can’t be hurt when Albedo is finally freed from his existence. Of course, there _is_ the alternative. If Rubedo doesn’t kill him, if U-DO somehow evades Albedo’s grasp, then he would continue to exist on and on, stuck in some miserable twilight kind of life, unable to really _live_ . Eventually, Margulis would die, and Albedo would be alone. Again. So, if _that’s_ the fate that should come to pass, why make it harder for himself? Why try to build something beautiful, knowing someday it will all fall apart, one way or another? If there’s one thing Albedo knows for certain, it’s that it isn’t good to ask for something you can’t have. Maybe, in making the commander hate him, he could convince himself he hated the commander right back. Maybe he could pretend hard enough that it would stop hurting.

Albedo gently raises a hand to his face, fingertips ghosting over the skin just under his eye. When had he started to cry…? Then again, he gets like this whenever he thinks about his curse, about the cage that demented doctor forced him to be born inside, his traitorous body that can’t have the decency to die when he wants it to. He gets like this when thinking about his brothers, too, although sometimes those tears are from anger. Anger at being left behind, at being forgotten. He lays down, wiping his eyes. His body felt… heavier than usual, lately. He felt tired. He usually felt tired, of course; even as a child, he could never sleep through the night, something that annoyed his siblings to no end. This was different though, a sort of fatigue that settled deep in the bones. In the soul, maybe, if he wanted to look at it that way. He felt like he was sinking.

Albedo turns onto his side. He twirls a lock of his hair, a little fidget he does whenever he needs his hand occupied. Margulis had always thought it was endearing.

He stops twirling his hair.

He wishes Margulis was gone already. As much as he likes the man, everything else would be much easier without him. Besides, the few other U-TIC soldiers stationed on the Song will be leaving along with Margulis; he’ll have the whole space station to himself. He remembers how excited the thought had made him when he was younger; being able to run through the seemingly endless halls without running into anyone, being able to find every secret nook and cranny in peace. He curls up, pulling his knees closer to his chest. He’ll be completely self-sufficient, able to go wherever he wants, whenever he wants. He won’t be dragged down to the little Ormus chapel every week by Margulis, won’t be sat down to eat with Margulis and Pellegri, won’t have to deal with Margulis hovering over him whenever he’s injured, as if he can’t regenerate.

Albedo curls up impossibly tighter. Yes, he’ll be glad when Margulis is gone, far away in some other star system, hopefully. He’ll be even gladder when his big brother finally gives him oblivion. He’ll be free from the constant expectations of U-TIC, of Wilhelm, of Ormus, free from the pain of his brothers. Free from foolish old men who care too much.

As Albedo falls asleep, his cheeks are wet with tears, and something in his chest splinters.

**Author's Note:**

> every fucking day i think abt how in episode 1 albedo was super rude to margulis and margulis was just like "okay :(". fucking defining dynamic moment
> 
> all i write are fics with found family dynamics and i dont know how to stop! i hope you liked reading this as much as i liked writing it aha.
> 
> follow me on tumblr @udoretrovirus


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